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by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Gen, Religion, religious character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You are not a man who speaks God's truth--then who are you to lead us?"</p><p>They speak incorrectly--yet Rivaille does not exist to please a cult.</p>
            </blockquote>





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He kneels before the altar daily—as ‘daily’ as it could be, for he kneels late at night, when the sun dips below the furthermost wall and ceases its cast of golden glow over the frameworks of a kingdom, enclosed in aged stone to defend God’s creation. He kneels, before the altar he has crafted himself, cradled with the soft glow of candles that rest upon crisp white, a painting restored watching over the man that honours that who watches him recite nocturnal prayers. Reciting entry words, uttering the prayers for protection, forgiveness upon any unholy act the Lord might perceive.

Prayers for comrades that fell, when the death toll had come and the number staggered higher than what bodies he saw scattered on the field. Cross, cross, remember the fallen and cross, find catharsis in the form of His caring arms—every comrade receives a candle, a thoughtful comment said upon them. He is a frost that mingles with iron, melding together and struck down with a chilling wind—God crafted him with liquid fire, with frozen flames, a paradox that cannot exist on sole theory alone yet does; a passionate man with a black heart.

(There is nothing wrong with who he is—the cold adds charm to a goal lit aflame.)

When he prays he does not mingle with the thoughts outside of the scripture, the carvings, and the words—instead, they come to him after, occupying his thoughts as he carries himself, halo heavy, to bed. Thoughts of whom watched the remaining legionnaires re-enter the Wall, praise upon first contact and jeers when they near the end of the crowd, striding to barracks. Those that regard the ones that walk in on horses like kings, subjects to revel in his light, to revel in His light.

He carries the Holy words on his tongue and thoughts, yet only his thoughts they remain. A rosary that is held between hands as he reads the beads, a hand that counts the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit on his person, a tongue that speaks verses and cites in his thoughts. The men of the Walls question his position and are only cast due to the one on the horse’s social status—which are what questions boil to.

Is he the one to lead humanity when he does not revel in true holy light? Is he the true decision of God, if he cannot read what the true word of God has been spoken, instead choosing heretical language to recite?

Can he withstand the wrath of God?

Rivaille’s voice rumbles cold.

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?"

He is humanity’s strongest soldier; a protectorate that lacks a shield, a paladin who trades his defence for offence. He shall not die on word of a cult that isolates men as him; he shall not die in the jaws of Hell’s wrath; he shall die when the tide turns and war is won.


End file.
